Morning
by Victoria Viridian
Summary: George Weasley yearns for the company of the one person he can no longer see: his twin brother, Fred. What he doesn't know is that Fred feels the exact same way. As they watch the same sun rise, Fred realizes that his brother has the power to recover - and is finally starting to.


Fred had always liked the sunrise, and it looked even better from above.

Unearthly pink and orange rays crested over the lofty bed of clouds; Fred's eyes lingered over the horizon as the large orb grew steadily closer to his new home. He turned left by reflex, his mouth falling open in glee.

"George –"

Of course, his twin's usual spot at his side was vacant, and had been for a few months. George was below, in the land of the living, having experienced the same sunrise minutes before. Fred wondered with a touch of sadness how his brother was getting on without him. He could picture the Burrow, where George would sit atop the far, east-facing hill, trying to escape the stone-based prison where each of his days were punctuated with memories and grief.

"There's a way to find out for sure," came a voice behind him, and Fred wheeled around to see Sirius Black, loping forth. He gestured down through the whiteness of the cloud bed.

"I know." Fred had felt sure that he would be able to see George if he so pleased, but had been delaying the moment thus far. He had been deathly afraid; he wanted only to watch his brother heal, not wallow in despair.

"Why not give it a try, mate?" Sirius offered, grinning. "He misses you."

"Have you seen him?" Fred blurted wildly, meeting Sirius' grey eyes with urgency. "Is – is he OK?"

Sirius put a hand on Fred's shoulder. "I know what it is to lose a best friend at such a young age. And you being his twin ... I wanted to check on him."

Fred swallowed, nodding. He closed his eyes, and could feel Sirius' hand disappear as though dissolving. Correct to his assumptions, he turned up on the side of the hill, a few feet away from his stocky, red-haired doppelganger. George Weasley was sprawled on the grass, gazing across the field. He was not alone.

"Angelina?"

She stiffened, almost as though she had heard a whisper of his call, even though he knew she hadn't. Angelina Johnson looked the same as ever: dark braids rippling in the breeze, deep brown skin radiant and clear. Fred had fancied her for a considerable part of his short life, and was unsure what he felt at the present moment. He dropped into the grass to sit beside the pair.

"George," Angelina murmured, crossing her legs in front of her, "do you think it awful of me?"

George ran a hand through his hair and met her dark eyes. Fred observed an expression he had never seen in the face of his twin. His brown eyes were brewing gently, burbling with some kind of hope through his grief. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Angelina ventured, hanging her head. "Fr – _he – _wouldn't be angry that we're ... that I'm always here, would he?"

As George laced his fingers with hers, Fred understood. "Nah," he said quietly, smiling. "I'm not angry, Georgie."

His twin's brow was furrowed. He gazed into the distance for a prolonged period of time before turning back to Angelina. He rubbed the spot where his ear had been. "I think I would feel it if he were upset. I don't feel horrible about you being with me. Someone's got to keep me from going mad." George's grin was lopsided on his face. Not quite complete, but making a valiant effort to stay there.

"D'you think he knows, wherever he is?" Angelina played with her hair nonchalantly, but Fred could tell that every fibre of her being was hinging on the answer.

George's eyes landed on his brother, and Fred gasped, almost crying out – _It's me, George!_ – but of course, George couldn't actually _see_ him. Fred had chosen to move on. He couldn't be seen here as a ghost would.

George closed his eyes. "I think he does. I think he'd understand." He turned back to Angelina, who waited on him with hopeful eyes. "I need you, Angelina. Stay here."

Another dead person who looked upon the scene would have found both twins in tears then; streams of sorrow made their way down each freckled face. Fred wiped his eyes to see Angelina doing the same to his brother, sweeping the wetness off his visage.

"Don't leave me," the live twin cried as he was taken up and embraced by her. The touch was solely theirs, something physical upon which the intangible Fred could no longer intrude.

Fred stood suddenly. The sun had risen, and with it, grief began its ascent. While Fred drifted back into the realm of death, he was sure that though he would never be forgotten, his other half was becoming whole again.

"Bye, Forge. See you later."


End file.
